Flee towards severe dictation,
Craving lust from a blood bath vacation,
The armor shields the silent formation,
Finding faith in a wicked disposition.
Freedom stains the sight of profit,
Redeeming the value of paper instead of blood,
Unity is not a false prophet,
Saving love from the violent flood.
We woke up from the fight,
Believing the war was way far done,
Yet we hear the sigh,
From nations living under a loaded gun.
poem from mervyn richard
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